


you can't be a spectator

by saltstreets



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Blindfolds, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Sensory Deprivation, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23346316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets/pseuds/saltstreets
Summary: “Jumpy, aren’t you.” Hickey is obviously enjoying himself. Tozer grits his teeth.
Relationships: Cornelius Hickey/Sgt Solomon Tozer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	you can't be a spectator

**Author's Note:**

> Terror bingo: blindfold  
> aka bingo_squares_that_make_you_go_hmm.txt
> 
> Read the tags! I chose not to archive warnings because it doesn't quite tip over the line into non-con, buuuuuuuuuuuuuut. I'm never gonna tire of writing horrible things happening to Tozer.
> 
> [Lately, titling Hickey/Tozer fic has been an exercise in combing through Pulp songs, looking for the seediest stuff that I can find.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DIvqjJKtLb0) Thanks Jarv for all the questionable inspiration. :*

Tozer comes to in a haze, his skull throbbing insistently and his back aching from the hunched curve it finds itself in. He’s confused, he’s in pain, and he’s _angry_ \- and all that adds up to the fact that it takes him a moment to realise that his eyes are open, but he cannot see.

Instinctively he tries to scrabble at his face, but his hands have been bound behind his back. Rough rope digs into his wrists as he tenses against it, shoulders protesting at being restricted.

Animal instinct wants to panic, blinded and bound, but rational reasoning locks back into place. Blind, no, no he isn’t blind- merely blindfolded. He can feel soft fabric tied around his head and through it he can discern dim patterns of light. He stills and listens, hears the familiar sounds of wind on canvas. He’s also lying on something soft, so he must be in one of the tents.

What had he done? Or rather, what had been done to him? His head hurts. _Christ,_ his head hurts. They had been at the table. They had been eating- Goodsir. They had been eating Goodsir. His stomach contracts, empty. He had taken a bite, two, perhaps. Hickey had been beside him, and had stood up.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks, and struggles to a seated position while trying to keep quiet. Recollection points to nothing good.

The crunch of footsteps on rock, approaching, and some of the light filtering through the blindfold is blotted out. _That’ll be where the tent flap is, then._ It’s uncertain what he can do with the knowledge, but he remembers it all the same. Always good to be ready.

“Wide awake again, I see.” Hickey. No surprises there.

Tozer turns his head towards the voice. “Cornelius. What the hell’s going on.”

He hears a theatrical sigh and senses movement towards him, Hickey entering the tent. When he speaks again his voice is closer, and Tozer thinks he might have crouched down, his stolen coat pooled around him. “I’m moving ahead with my plan. You’ll still have a part in it.”

“A part that includes me being cracked over the head? Did you do it yourself? What did you use?”

“Just a gun. Don’t worry, I didn’t break anything. I checked you myself. So you don’t have to worry about your brains hanging out, like your friend in the sick bay, what was his name-”

Tozer bristles. “Shut up.”

“Are you _still_ upset about him? You really are too tender-hearted for your own good.”

It will do him no favours to rise to Hickey’s bait. That’s what it all is, what it’s all always been. Bait. Like those rats they had strung up for the bear. It seems a long time ago now.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve had to put you in this position.”

Tozer is wondering that a bit, but he also has a decent idea about the shape of the thing already. He opts to ignore Hickey’s invitation, which would surely just lead to more taunting. “Untie me.”

“No, I don’t think I’ll do that. Come on, Sol. We both know you could overpower me if you wanted to. It’s just that you never did want to. But you’ve gone sour in the past couple days, I’ve noticed.”

Tozer grimaces. “At least take this bloody blindfold off.”

“Won’t do that, either. Two misses, Sergeant. Best adjust your aim.”

“Cornelius.” Tozer tries to make his tone coaxing. Not that it’s ever worked before. “Please. You’ve already got me trussed like a Christmas goose, you could at least let me see. What am I going to do with sight?”

What he doesn’t need to do with sight is know that Hickey is smirking. The expression is audible in his words. “Oh, it’s not so much what you’re going to do with sight, as what I’m going to do to you without it.” A shifting and suddenly Tozer can feel Hickey close to him, a puff of breath on his cheek and a sense of presence along his side. He recoils instinctively, and Hickey laughs softly in his ear. “There it is. That’s what I was looking for.”

Tozer startles at the touch of a cold hand on his jaw, turning his face sharply. Christ, he hates this. He hates not knowing what’s coming. He can see the changing light and shadows indicating movement in front of him, but far from enough to know what to expect.

“Jumpy, aren’t you.” Hickey is obviously enjoying himself. Tozer grits his teeth. He says nothing as Hickey toys with a curl by his ear. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

 _Again,_ is unspoken but present.

The hand at the front of his trousers, when it comes, is not truly a surprise. It only figures that Hickey would want to string him along one last time, even after having clobbered him over the head.

Hickey must guess at Tozer’s thoughts or read the visible half of his expression, because he laughs. “I know. A bit presumptuous of me. But I didn’t want to have put you out like that, Sol. You really forced my hand.”

“Oh, so it’s _my_ fault, is it,” Tozer snaps. “Should I apologise to my own fucking self, then? For the great lump on my head?” The bruise throbs at the thought. It’s the kind of crack that will be giving him headaches for days, Tozer can just tell. Hopefully nothing more severe, despite Hickey’s reassurances. He’s known men to get hit in the head with loose block and tackle and be in a daze that lasted a week or more. Or simply not be the same again, afterwards.

The hand gives him a light squeeze, and Tozer inhales sharply. “Don’t get cheeky.”

“It’s not cheek; I’m right fucking furious, Cornelius.”

“Don’t be that, either. What choice did I have? Dissension in my own ranks, that doesn’t do.” Tozer can tell that Hickey’s will be frowning, his eyes downturned, playing the part of remorse and regret for an audience that can’t even see.

Tozer doesn’t reply. He’s fuming. Fuming at Hickey and at himself for being an idiot. He’d ignored the unsettled feeling in his stomach for so long and now where has it got him. Although Hickey has taken his hand from Tozer’s groin, so perhaps he doesn’t want to play that sort of game after all.

His shoulders are beginning to ache and he wriggles uncomfortably, trying to reposition his arms.

“Stop squirming about. Surely you ought to be better at waiting than this. Isn’t that all you ever do? Wait for someone to come along and tell you what to do? Sit still.”

 _Because that’s my fucking job_ , Tozer wants to bark, not that Hickey would know anything about doing a job. A worse caulker he’d never seen, in all his time at sea.

“Nothing to say to that, either? You’re usually a bit more chatty than this.”

Tozer scowls, mouth firmly shut.

That only gets him laughed at. “S’ppose we’ll have to come up with something else to occupy your mouth,” Hickey says, shifting. The rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle. “Lucky for you I’ve already got a notion. Go on. Open up.” He has a hand fisted in Tozer’s hair, holding him steady.

“You don’t mean to-”

“What do you think I mean,” says Hickey sweetly, and presses his cock against Tozer’s protesting mouth.

He tries to rear back. He’s not going to suck Hickey off, not fucking likely, but Hickey has that hand in his hair and has always been stronger than he looks. “ _Ah_ \- be good, now.” Hickey tuts.

Tozer may die of shame before Hickey kills him. And- has he already accepted that so quickly? That Hickey will, eventually, dispose of him?

He sits passively, but begrudgingly allows the intrusion. Hickey is soft in his mouth, though he stirs as Tozer reflexively adjusts his tongue around him, spit gathering at his lips.

“Come on, Solomon, I know you’re a better cocksucker than this.” Hickey chides him, the one hand still in his hair and the other cradling his jaw, long fingers beneath his chin. The touch is light. Tozer knows from experience that it can and will turn grasping and painful if Hickey decides.

For a moment he wavers between defiance and indecision. But what is there to be gained? He can’t see anything that could be achieved from denying Hickey what he wants.

So he forces himself to relax. Licks at the head in the way he knows feels good, presses the flat of his tongue to the underside of the cock and follows it down. He’s familiar enough with Hickey’s prick to know how much of it he can take down his throat before he begins to choke, even without seeing what he’s doing.

The worst part is that he thinks he might have actually enjoyed this under different circumstances. The lack of control might have been thrilling if it had been handed over to someone else, and Tozer doesn’t inherently mind being on his knees.

He’d had a doxy once, a fancier girl than his usual who’d had a room all to herself with four poster bed, complete with faded velvet hangings. She had wrapped a gauzy scarf around his eyes, cloth that he could easily see through, but it had been the game of the thing that had done it for him. They had rutted together like that, him pretending that he couldn’t see while she squirmed and panted above him. The natural escalation of that would have been exciting. But with his hands bound behind his back and Cornelius fucking into his mouth without bothering that Tozer feels as though he’ll lose balance and topple over at any minute, it’s less so.

He’s still growing hard, though. Fucking hell. Hickey will notice, of course. He always does.

Hickey spills down his throat with a low grunt of satisfaction and Tozer tries his best to swallow without spluttering, before Hickey pulls away and spends his last across Tozer’s face. He can feel it on his lips and cheek, and can feel his skin burn with humiliation. Shadows blink and dance in front of him, and the blankets settle as Hickey presumably steps back to tuck himself away.

“You do make a pretty picture,” Hickey murmurs. A finger swipes across Tozer’s cheek, catching the edge of the sore beneath his eye that just won’t heal. “Almost a shame you can’t see yourself. But it seems you enjoyed that all the same. You always were easy, weren’t you?” The hand is back, now pushing open his trousers and slipping under his shirt tails to stroke his cock directly. At least it’s the hand that Hickey’d had in his hair, and is warm.

“I’ll take care of you, even if you are a double-crossing coward,” Hickey whispers, and begins to stroke in time with his words. “That’s right, I know you’ve been making plans. But I suppose I still have a soft spot for you, Sol.”

It’s all lies, Tozer thinks but he can’t help arching into Hickey’s hand, cock stiff beneath unseen fingers. It is pathetic, how hungry he is to be touched, even by Hickey, who he knows he can’t trust. He’s known it for ages, really. He’d just ignored it. Looked away from it. If Tozer were a cleverer man he might have put together a quip about the wool having been pulled over his eyes and the blindfold, but he isn’t, so he doesn’t try. He thinks about the various components of such a joke, and casts them aside wearily.

He’s close. He’s close he’s so close, if only Hickey would move his hand a bit faster, would squeeze a bit tighter-

“Ask nicely.”

“Please,” Tozer mutters. He fights gamely to keep the need from his voice but damn him, it’s still there.

And Hickey hears it because he doesn’t ask for anything more. He’s already gotten what he wants.

Tozer comes with a gasp, spending over Hickey’s hand and his trousers. He feels wrung out and cold. Long gone are the days when all it took was a quick frig to settle his mind and body down into comfort.

The hand is wiped across Tozer’s knee. What does he care- they’re all covered in grime and every manner of filth anyways.

“I won’t bother putting you away,” Hickey says, his words a caress against Tozer’s ear. “Might be back for seconds later. If there’s time. We’ll wait and see.”


End file.
